her time he was nearly arrested when
an irate man, whom he had stopped to investigate, raised a shout for a
policeman.

"Look here, Hiram," remonstrated the motor wizard, drawing his
tow-headed friend apart, "if you're convinced your father is in San
Diego, what the deuce are you expecting to see him here in Venice for?"

"I got the habit of lookin'," answered Hill lamely, "and seems like I
can't give it up."

"Well, you've got to give it up for the rest of to-day or you and I will
separate here and now. You act as though you had just escaped from a
lunatic asylum, and when people see me they are apt to think there are
two of us."

They went out on the pleasure pier, bought post cards to send to their
friends, had their pictures taken on a couple of burros, and finally got
into bathing suits and went into the surf. Hill at last forgot about his
lost parent and let himself loose for a good time.

Both he and Clancy enjoyed themselves to the limit. Refreshed by their
plunge in the ocean, they went into a restaurant, and did ample justice
to a splendid, meal. After that they started back to Los Angeles.

"This here has been a great afternoon, Clancy!" sighed Hiram, sinking
back in the car seat and showing his weariness. "We haven't done much
toward runnin' out the trail, but we can begin on that again to-morrow."

"I'm running out my own trail, Hiram," laughed Clancy.

"Eh?" returned Hill blankly.

The motor wizard did not explain. His companion, he knew, would not have
understood him if he had explained. But Clancy realized that he was more
contented in mind than he had been at any time during the last two
weeks. Tired though he was, it was astonishing how much better he felt.

"New sights and new scenes," thought Clancy, "do a lot to put new life
into a fellow. I'm beginning to wish I had taken this Happy Trail a long
time ago."

It was ten o'clock when they walked into the lobby of the Renfrew House.
As they stopped at the counter to get the keys to their rooms, Clancy
asked the clerk if there was a telegram for him. The clerk thumbed over,
a bunch of messages and tossed out one.

"Owen Clancy?" he queried. "There you are."

"I hope it ain't Wynn wirin' you to come back," remarked Hill, with
sudden foreboding.

"It isn't from Wynn," said Clancy; "I know that before I open it. I'll
bet something handsome it's from the chief of police at San Diego."

"The chief of police? What's he wiring you for?"

"C